Not A Lot Goin' On
by Kye Above
Summary: Crack Saskatchewan Fic. A casual drive down a dusty road for Saskatchewan leads to seemingly strange events that are much more boring for him than they should be. Some guy putting a gun is his face? Alberta is worse.


**The idea struck me when I found out that despite it's low population, Saskatchewan has a quite high crime rate. Many things are exaggerated. This is not meant to insult anyone.**

**I spent way too much time writing this.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs.**

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The lone beat-up truck sped along the dusty dirt road. A Saskatchewan Roughriders flag decoration was hung on the broken mirror, among various other charms that sometimes became a distraction to the young looking male driving the sorry excuse for a vehicle. Dressed in blue overalls, and a dirty-white shirt, with almost matching eyes and hair, Sam Williams, known better to his often forgetful family as Saskatchewan, was not someone you'd think was more than just a farmer. And you'd be correct in most ways.

"You can watch your dog run away, and out here it can take three days." He sang even though their was no music. He knew the song by heart, and it helped very much that he had just participated in a marathon of the show he had first heard it from, with his father. "I've heard every joke. I've heard every word you say." He stopped singing suddenly, not slowing his truck even though he had spotted a car on the side of the road.

This would have been an a very interesting sight elsewhere, and some would have actually stopped out of desire to actually help the possible stranded person. But Sam was not one of those kinds of people. Around this area of Canada's wide prairie, it was a 'fend for yourself' type of life. Sam wouldn't even have stopped if the person was doing a body dump, which the person most certainly was.

But then, obviously hearing his approaching truck, the body dumper turned in surprise and fear, meeting eyes with Sam. One rule of the prairie was to never make eye contact with someone. That made you feel obligated to talk with them, since you've just made a connection with one of the few people who lived in the province. Sighing, the half Ukrainian boy stopped his truck, and crawled over to the passenger street.

"Hello," He said casually through the open window, trying to not make eye-contact again, which would be even more trouble. He might have been compulsed to help the man with the body dump. He was a near expert in them after all. The province he represented didn't become one of the places in Canada with high crime rates without him accidentally influencing them. Not that he meant to shoot that first idiot. But he had been trespassing on his land. "How's life treating you?"

The man had sprung into a frenzy of terror even before Sam had stopped. He took out a gun from the open truck and started waving it around, panicking, trying to think of something to say that would make this young stranger leave the area and forget what ever he had seen. Having a gun out is most certainly not a good way to do so.

"Little boy, I don't need any help! You and your father can just drive away now!" Sam's eyes narrowed, as he didn't like being reminded how he looked so much like a child. And it wasn't that he was at child-height, if it was he would have had a hard time driving, but he had such a babyish face despite being physically sixteen.

"I'm not a little boy. And I'm the only one in the car, as I'm the driver." Sam stated matter-of-factly. The man stopped moving, and a look of confusion and denial appeared on his face. Sighing again, Sam pushed the door open, and climbed out, showing the man his full height. "Does that prove it?" He even held the door open so that the man could see that there was no one else there. So the man began to panic again.

"Fuck…" With long strides, the man walked over to where Sam stood, and placed the gun under the boy's chin. "I'll shoot you hear and now! I've already got one body to dump. I don't care if I need to find a place to put another!" Sam was unfazed, as Alberta often attacked him in much more terrifying ways. And he had stuck a gun in many people's faces before, so it was a boring action.

And then the horrible thing happened. They made direct eye contact. Sam cursed his luck.

"I could help you dump the body, if you want." He smirked at the look of confusion that had replaced itself on the man's face. "Though, considering how flat this place is, I'm sure the police on the other side of the province can see us. They're probably well on their way. We shouldn't even bother dumping the body." The man huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Cheeky brat." The gun clicked, ready to fire. "I'm a desperate man. I'll do anything to make sure _no one _finds out about this." Realizing that the man was actually being serious with his death threats, Sam decided to think about happy moments of his long past, just in case these were his last moments. The times his father actually paid attention to him came to mind. Then he thought of that incident with his uncles Quebec and Ontario, and it warmed him. That had been just last week.

Finally he remembered that he wouldn't die even if he was shot, as personifications couldn't be killed through most human means. He'd get better, but dammit, would it hurt for days afterwards. The man couldn't know that, for sure.

"So, since you're desperate, you'll accept my help? I won't tell anyone. The police already have enough to deal with." The man actually looked like he was considering it. Then the cold metal was removed from his neck, and the man growled. "I'll take that as a yes." Sam said, scratching his throat.

"Whatever, kid." The man grumbled, before walking back over to the wrapped up body in his trunk. "You take the feet, I'll take the head. And after we get rid of it, you'll forget this ever happened." As he reached for his side of the body, he added "The name's Sal by the way."

"That's good to know." Sam said as he nodded and took his place at the feet. "I'm Sam. It's not short for Samuel."

Together they picked up the body, which Sam decided was probably a very thin male, and started to make their way through the grass. Sam knew that unless the victim was very well known, due to Saskatchewan being like it was, Sal probably had a long time before any suspicion would fall on him. He'd most certainly have enough time to get out of the country.

Then, an odd but familiar smell reached his nose. Rotting flesh. His eyes travelled to where many bugs were flying about, and a bird was pecking. For the third time within ten minutes he sighed. Somebody had already dumped a body here. He alerted Sal of this, and after placing Sal's kill down, they crowded around the present body, noses plugged.

"Damn…" Sal muttered. The woman appeared to have been stabbed, shot, sliced, and presumably many other things beginning with 'S'. Sal obviously had only killed the person they had just dragged out into the field, so someone else most certainly had been there. Looking around, he spotted similar sights. The non-rotten body most certainly wouldn't have stood out once it decomposed.

"BOSTON BRUINS!" Sal and Sam jumped at the scream, almost falling on the body they were inspecting. The turned and saw that the supposedly dead person was struggling to escape the cloth. And from the most unusual swear, Sam had a good idea of who it could be. There was few kinds of people among Canadians who could still hold such a huge grudge against the Boston Bruins.

"Calm down so I can get you out without cutting you." Sam said, taking out his army knife. At the familiar voice, the bundle stopped moving. Sal watched in horror, unable to believe that the person was somehow alive after being shot as many times as he had. He also felt very guilty. After a few quick cuts, Sam was able to set free the not so dead man.

"What the hell happened?" Asked Vic Kirkland, the embodiment of British Columbia. "And why do I feel like I haven't gotten stoned in days?" Sam rolled his eyes, before looking at Sal.

"So what actually happened?" Like a bad habit, Sal began to panic again.

"He's my dealer! For weed that is. We got into a small dispute, I reacted badly, shot him, and kept his dead body in my basement for three days, until I had an idea of what to do!" Sal looked like a child that had just gotten lost in a field of wheat.

Having untangled himself from the blanket, Vic stood up and wrapped an arm around Sam, pulling him close. Sam had never actually liked Vic, finding him just as annoying as Ontario - he suspected that it was their common relation to England - but he was much easier to be around.

"Not a word of this to your father, 'kay? You know how he'd react if he found out about this." Oh, Sam knew very well how his father would react. That would not have ended well, but since uncle Alfred was visiting, things wouldn't have been so bad, since Matthew seemed to like to make people think he wasn't violent.

"How the hell is he alive?!" Sal asked. Sam knew that he couldn't tell him. It was a shame actually, since he was actually starting to enjoy the young man's company. "Or is it some big government secret?"

"Close enough." Vic said with a cheeky grin. Sam held his head, hoping that Vic would decide to quickly go back to where he belonged. Sal's eyes widened, and he nodded. Sam wondered if Sal was a conspiracy theorist. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Well, okay. I get it. Sorry for shooting you when I did." Sal apologized, rubbing the back of his head. Vic laughed heartfully, letting go of Sam.

"It's all fine. It happens all the time, actually." Sal joined in on Vic's laughter, and the two began to chat like nothing had even happened, making up just like that. Deciding to ignore this fact, Sam felt his father's invisibility gene kicking in. To himself, Sam started to again sing the song that he had been when in his truck, as he left the two men alone, and trekked back to his truck. If he wanted to see Sal again, he could always ask Vic about.

"You think there's not a lot goin' on. Look closer baby you're so wrong. And that's why you can stay so long. Where there's not a lot goin' on…"

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**This is filled with a bunch of obscure references. So many that even I can't keep track of them all.**


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